


Baby Bea's Ginger Ice

by a_novel_idea



Series: The Adventures of Baby Bea [4]
Category: Justified
Genre: F/M, little bit of romance, pre Baby Bea, pre-kid!fic, pregnancy mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_novel_idea/pseuds/a_novel_idea
Summary: Tim's new to the office, so Art and Leslie have him and Auggie (+Bea) over for dinner.





	Baby Bea's Ginger Ice

**Author's Note:**

> look. i spent half an hour trying to get the formatting to work with me, and this is as good as it gets. love you.

Art gets the file on a Tuesday.

It’s been a long few weeks in the Lexington office, what with one deputy transferring to San Francisco, and another out on long-term disability after taking a hard blow to the head in pursuit of a fugitive, but they’ve managed to get through it. Barely. But no matter what, he knows his office can handle it; there hasn’t been a scrape yet that has kept them down for long.

The file is from a friend at Glynco. They exchange emails every few weeks, but this is the first time it’s been in a professional capacity; normally it’s just the usual round of complaints followed by the promise of drinks they never seem to be able to get to. Curious - and a little suspicious -  the chief opens the file, and starts to read.

 

**Name:** Timothy Gutterson

**DOB:** 03/29/1981

**Height:** 5’10”

**Weight:** 156 lbs.

 

Art skims the rest of the basic information.

 

**Educational Background:** High school diploma - 1998; United States Army - Active 1998 - 2009; United States Army Rangers - Active 2003 - 2009

 

_Impressive_ , Art thinks.

 

**Federal Law Enforcement Training Center Scores**

  
Legal Training - 98/100   
Defensive Tactics - 100/100   
Driver Training - 100/100   
Courtroom Evidence  & Procedure - 98/100   
Court Security - 100/100   
Officer Survival - 100/100   
Search and Seizure - 100/100

Protective Service Training - 100/100  
Firearms Training - 100/100

Physical Conditioning - 100/100

First Aid - 100/100

Prisoner Search & Restraint - 100/100

Computer Training - 93/100

Building Entry & Search - 100/100

High Threat Trials - 100/100

Surveillance - 100/100

 

Art dials the phone number from memory, and his friend Charlie picks up after three rings.

“Flacker.”

“Are you shitting me?” Art asks.

Charlie laughs.

“These are near-perfect scores,” the chief continues. “Did you doctor these?”

“Not a point,” Charlie promises.

“Alright, answer me this: this kid has got to have every federal agency busting his door down. Why stick with the Marshals?”

“He’s already picked the Marshals,” Charlie says, disbelief coloring his own voice. “I asked him. Kid said something about the numbers making it the right choice.”

“He’s not one of those ‘it’s written in the stars’ types is he?”

“Nah. I think he actually meant numbers. Seems like he’s done his homework.”

“Alright,” Art hums. “Tell me about him.

“He’s quiet. Settled into his skin, you know. Honestly? Kinda scary. Sometimes he’s so still you kinda forget he’s standing there, even if you’re looking at him. Always aware of what’s going on; I’d use the word paranoid, but, you know. Fresh from the sandbox. He’s still probably just wired that way.”

“Yeah,” Art agrees drily. “I imagine having to watch for roadside bombs and enemy combatants can have that effect on people.”

“All over? I’d give the kid an eight out of ten.”

“Why an eight?”

“He seems like he’s on the edge of something. Not sure what, but the edge.”

“Oh, so you want to throw him my way and see if I can sort him out.”

“Something like that,” Charlie chuckles.

“Who else is calling dibs?”

“You are it, my friend. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Hey, now, I haven’t even agreed to interview the kid.”

“Well, decide soon, ‘cause he’s gonna be there in two days.”

 

***

 

Art partners Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson with his best in the office: Rachel Brooks. She’s smart, ambitious, and confident, but she’s also the best in the office at explaining why things are the way they are. He thinks they’ll be a good match.

“Show him the ropes,” Art tells her the day before Tim is due to start. “I’ll keep you two on subpoenas and surveilling for a few days before we throw him into the fire. Be nice.”

“When am I ever not nice?” she asks.

“Do you remember the last time you made Nelson cry?”

“He let a fugitive go.”

“Just remember he’s new,” Art sighs.

 

***

 

Rachel gives Tim her seal of approval two weeks into his tenure with the office. Color Art impressed.

 

***

 

Art tries to get to know his Deputies. They all do the work, and they all have to trust and rely on each other, and seeing as their office is small he usually has the new member to the office and their family over for dinner. His wife Leslie likes the company now that all of their own kids are out of the house with their families, and Art likes to see how people new to the area are coping.

“Is it just him or is he bringing someone?”

“I told him to bring someone if he wanted, but he didn’t say either way.”

“Well, is he married?” she asks.

“I don't know. He doesn't wear a ring.”

“How do you not know? He’s your Marshal.”

“He has an Augusta Gutterson listed as his emergency contact, but I don’t know if it’s his wife or his sister, mother, cousin, someone who just happens to share his last name.”

“What do you know about him?” she asks, mouth held in a way that Art knows she’s disappointed.

“Honestly, not much,” he admits. “Kid doesn’t talk much. I think he’s living out of a short term apartment, doesn't socialize much, if at all. Writes detailed reports, turns in all his paperwork in on time.”

“Hrumph. Maybe he just needs some good food.”

“Maybe.”

Before more speculation can be made, the doorbell rings, and Art leaves the kitchen to let their guest in. He takes a deep breath before opening the door, and is glad he did.

On the other side of the door stands Tim Gutterson, as dressed down as Art has seen him in jeans and a polo. With him is a very pretty woman holding a pie tin in such a way that makes her engagement and wedding rings almost impossible to miss. She’s about the same height as Tim, with long brown hair, and a smile that lights up her face.

“Well, come on in,” he says, standing aside so they can step into the entryway. “Art Mullen,” he offers the woman his hand.

“Auggie Gutterson,” she says. “I brought pie.”

Tim hums behind her, and she says lightly, “Timothy, you did not help me make this pie, therefore, _I_ bought pie.”

“Yes, dear.”

Art does his best not to laugh.

“Why don’t we head to the kitchen? Dinner’s almost done.”

Leslie is pulling the pan of lasagna out of the oven when the three of them enter the kitchen.

“Hello!” she says, laying the pan and her oven mitts on the stove. She offers her hand. “I’m Leslie. It’s so nice to meet you both.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Auggie says.

“You three go ahead and have a seat at the table. This just needs to rest for a moment.”

Auggie offers Leslie the pie as Tim and Art sit down at the table. 

“Do you need help with anything?” Auggie asks.

“No, no, I’ve got it. And thank you for the pie!”

“It’s not a problem.”

It only takes a few moments before Leslie is setting the hot pan on the table.

“That smells delicious,” Auggie says.

“Thank you! It’s always a hit with our kids, so we make it all the time.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“Three,” Art says, dishing out portions to everyone’s plates. “All married.”

“We’re waiting on our first grandchild,” Leslie says.

“Exciting,” Auggie says.

They eat for several minutes in silences, but before long Leslie starts the conversation again. It’s one of the reasons Art brings new Marshalls for dinner; his wife can make almost everyone talk.

  
“So, Auggie, what do you do?”

“I’m a professor at the University of North Carolina Charlotte. I’ll be there until the end of this semester, then I have a position lined up at the University of Kentucky.”

“Oh, what do you teach?”

“Cultural Anthropology and Development of World Civilization.”

“Oh! That sounds exciting!”

“It can be. Most of the students I have are just in it for the humanities credits, though.”

Art opens his mouth to ask a question, but stops when Auggie noticeably pales. She lays a hand on Tim’s arm to get his attention, and says quietly,

“I’m sorry. Can you point me in the direction of your bathroom?”

“Of course,” Leslie says. “It’s down the hall. Second door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

The three of them watch her leave, Tim keeping his eye turned towards the hall, as if doing his best to see Auggie from where he is.

“Honey,” Leslie says. “You didn’t have to come if she’s sick. We would have understood.”

“No, ma’am. She isn’t sick, but the morning sickness hits her kind of randomly.”

“Oh!” Leslie says.

“Congratulations,” Art says, for lack of anything else.

“Thank you.”

“How far along is she?” Leslie asks.

“Nine weeks.”

“You just found out!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Auggie turns back into the kitchen looking much healthier than when she left.

“Sorry,” she says. “False alarm.”

“Tim just told us the news!” Leslie says.

“Tim did, did he?” Auggie asks drily.

“Sorry, I lied,” Tim says flatly. “She has the flu and we’re all going to spend the next two weeks with raging fevers and uncontrollable sinus issues.”

Auggie whacks him on the shoulder as she sits back down.

“We haven’t told anyone,” she says. “Being the first trimester and all.”

“Not even your parents?” Leslie asks.

“Oh, no. We, uh, we don’t have contact with our parents.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is what it is,” the younger woman says reasonably.

“Now, when I was pregnant with our fist, my Great Aunt Marie suggested blending ginger root and water, freezing it, and sucking on the cubes. It worked great for our first two children - not so much with Gabbi - but it was much better than just ginger ale. But I’ve heard those sea sickness bands can work wonders, too.”

“Thank you. I’ll have to try those.”

 

***

 

“Well, that was interesting,” Art says, setting a stack of dirty plates in the sink.

“I think they’re both very nice,” Leslie says.

“I will tell you the wife threw me for a loop. I can’t decide if I was more surprised that he’s actually married, or that the woman he married is so…”

“Charming?”

“Charming,” he repeats.

“She seems lovely.”

“Oh, I agree. I agree. I just can’t make them fit together in my head, you know?”

“I do,” she says, “but they must love each other for a reason.”


End file.
